Delia's Crossing (Delia 1)

He shook his head with confusion. “You should speak with my mother and father. They will know what to do. Come to my house.”

“I can’t. I have to go home to do my work, or she will get even more angry.”

“You will come to my house on Saturday, then. I’ll get my father to let me use the truck and pick you up. We are celebrating my sister Rosalind’s birthday. She will be seven years old. We’ll have a wonderful fiesta.”

“I’ll try,” I said, wiping the tears from my face.

“Good. C’mon, I’ll walk you to the station. We have not missed the bus yet, but we must walk quickly, okay?”

I nodded.

He took my hand, and we started down the sidewalk. I was very nervous, anticipating Bradley returning with his friends, perhaps, but they didn’t come, and we got to the station a few minutes before the bus arrived. When the bus reached my station, Ignacio wanted to get out and walk me to my aunt’s hacienda.

“It’s all right,” I said, seeing Edward waiting in his car. “That’s my cousin Edward. He is nice to me. I’m okay now.”

Ignacio looked out suspiciously. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Remember Saturday,” he said.

“Thank you, Ignacio.” I leaned over after I stood up and kissed him on the cheek.

Then I hurried out of the bus and to Edward waiting in his car.

Edward didn’t start the car and drive off when I got in. Instead, he looked hard at me and glanced back at the bus.

“Who is that boy you kissed?” he asked me.

I was surprised that he had seen me kiss Ignacio.

Before I could respond, he added, “You made a boyfriend quickly.”

“No, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Then why did you kiss him?” Edward asked. His eyes now resembled his mother’s, dark, suspicious. They made me feel guilty of something bad, even though I wasn’t.

“He helped me,” I said.

“Helped you? How?”

Before I could answer, my tears came pouring down my cheeks. His looks of accusation and suspicion evaporated.

“What happened, Delia? You look terrible, now that I think about it,” he said. “You look enferma. Are you sick?”

I nodded. Sick seemed to be the right way to describe me and all that had happened.

“Bradley vino a mi escuela,” I said.

“He came to your school? When?”

“Today.”

“Today? Why? Por qué?”

How was I to explain this in my elementary English to someone who knew very little Spanish?

“He take me to other boys.”